


You Weren't Like This, Before

by awabubbles



Series: Tumblr Drabbles [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Post-Hell, Self-Hatred, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 06:06:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16969113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awabubbles/pseuds/awabubbles
Summary: Dean asks for strange things ever since he came back from hell.





	You Weren't Like This, Before

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr prompt: watersports

It strikes the back of his head, pours down his face. Pungent, sickening. Urine. It washes over his cheeks and trickles into the corners of his mouth. Dean tastes it. There’s no avoiding it. Instinctively he pulls at the bonds around his wrists. But Sam is good, and Dean’s not going anywhere. Not that he wants to. He asked for this. _He wants it_.

Dean’s face is awash in piss now. He opens his mouth to let it stream over his tongue. Swallows it. The taste churns up bile in his stomach. Dean shudders, all over. There’s a sound that comes from him, a groan, foreign even to his ears.

“Dean?” He hears the voice somewhere above him. It’s Sam. It takes Dean a second to place him, but it’s Sam. There’s concern in his voice, and no more piss.

“I didn’t ask you to stop,” Dean growls. On his knees, his face is reflected in a metal bowl set down to collect the excess. Dean sees his distorted features covered by a thin film of urine. He feels deeply satisfied.

“I just. I don’t know if I can do this,” Sam says quietly.

Pity. Dean doesn’t need that. “You drank enough water,” he rebuffs.

“Not-” Sam struggles. “Not on _you!_ ”

Dean hadn’t thought of that, of Sam struggling with this. Assumed Sam would simply execute his request. Maybe even enjoy it. After all, can’t his brother see this is where Dean belongs? What he deserves? It had never occurred to Dean that he wouldn’t. And Dean can’t explain to Sam why he’s wrong. “Sam,” is the best he can do, imbuing his brother’s name with all of his brokenness. “ _Please_.”

Dean can only see the shuffle of feet from the corner of his eyes. His brother’s piss starts to dry on his cheeks.

“You weren’t like this before,” Sam ventures.

 _Goddamn you_ , Dean thinks viciously.

“Dean is this….about hell?”

Dean pulls at his bonds again, a quick, violent gesture. “I told you I don’t remember any of that,” he lies.

Even the mention of hell tears at Dean’s insides. Pain. He remembers that. Constant pain. Shooting nerves. And being parched. So when he crawled out of that grave it was hard to tell if he was alive or not. That was, until his first drink of water. It was pure pleasure, rushing down his throat. How long had it been since he’d enjoyed something so clean, so simple?

And it was a relief, at first. The pleasure of water. Of food. Of driving down the highway with the wind rushing through your hair. It took him away from everything for a moment. But only for a moment. Because then the memories would seep back, forty years of tearing flesh from muscle, torturing souls one after another, after another, after another. It haunts him every moment, every day. Even when eating, even when drinking.

Suddenly, he began to hate those pleasures. They sent a sickening jolt to his stomach. He couldn’t bear the reminders that he wasn’t in hell, because he couldn’t bear any reminders at all. Dean was an egg shell, empty inside, held together by nothing. And he would break, except for this _one thing._

“Sam, _please_ ,” he repeats, because he doesn’t know how to explain his need. Can’t.

He hears his brother huff softly, make a sound, something like disgust, and then urine streams over his face again.

Dean shudders at the stink of it. But as it washes over him his breathing slows. He calms. Being pissed on is good, he thinks. And so is his brother’s disgust. Because Sam should realize what crawled up out of that grave on a hot day in Lawrence, Kansas wasn’t human. It was shit. Shoved into the skin of a dead guy and paraded around as something else. But here, on the floor, urine streaming over his face, there’s no denying it, what he is, and what he deserves.

Dean groans and shakes as Sam pisses on him.

This is the only kind of pleasure he can stand now.


End file.
